Wish

Empty

Grayson woke up, trembling and gasping, his cheeks slick with tears. His fingers were clutching the bed sheets, and he could feel that his shirt was damp with sweat. The fabric was sticking to his skin uncomfortably, so he peeled it off and threw it over the side of the bed, rubbing his bare arms in an effort to calm his racing heart.

His bedroom was dark and silent, except for the steady hum of his ceiling fan rotating in the shadows. Moonlight filtered in through the cracks off his window blinds, leaving lines of silvery luminescence.

Hopping out of bed, Grayson stretched his arms upward, yawning and glancing at the clock placed upon his dresser. 3:47 am.

Grayson wasn't at all tired, despite the late hour glowing on the clock's digital numbers. His mind was awake and alert, replaying the events over and over again that had transpired within his dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth as the sound of Ethan's body hitting the ground repeated again and again, like a round of bullets released from a gun. His eardrums throbbed from the terrible sound, and he shook his head violently like an insane animal, collapsing onto the ground and rocking back and forth, back and forth, hands over his ears and eyes closed.

"It wasn't real," Grayson whispered to himself. "It was just a dream."

He reopened his eyes, somewhat comforted by the thought that Ethan wasn't really dead. No, he wasn't dead. He was sleeping in his room, only separated from Grayson by a single, thin wall.

But the dream still haunted him. It was one of those dreams that makes one nervous and uncomfortable. It was a dream that left Grayson with a hollow chest, spinning brain, and racing heart. He felt empty and unsatisfied that the dream wasn't real. The only thing that would fill the deep cavern sliced into his soul was knowing that Ethan was okay, knowing that he was sleeping soundly, bundled up in his covers.

So Grayson opened his door, which creaked slightly and made startled shivers run up his spine. At this point, anything could scare him.

You're overreacting, Grayson thought as his fingers closed around Ethan's door handle. Of course he's in here. Why wouldn't he be?

But he still needed that little reassurance that would calm his heart and the slight weakness in his legs, so he pushed open the entrance to his brother's room, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness that was even deeper and blacker than his own room. A small smile curved his pink lips because he knew that Ethan was here, he was sleeping, he was alive and well.

And suddenly, the smile was slapped off his lips as he realized there was nothing in the room.

"What?" Grayson asked to nobody in particular. His hands searched frantically in the darkness for the light switch, hoping and praying that his eyes were fooling him and the light would reveal Ethan's bed, dresser, desk, computer, and, of course, Ethan himself.

His fingers located the switch, and he wildly swiped it upwards, the light snatching the breath from his lungs.

The bedroom, Ethan's bedroom, was empty, a vast chamber of bare carpet, bare walls, bare space, space that was supposed to be filled with Ethan's belongings.

"No!" Grayson cried, his head twisting from side to side, his eyes distraught and searching, searching for anything. But there was nothing.

"No, no, no!" Grayson screamed, his legs shattering from underneath him. He slumped against the white walls, hands grasping his hair and tears blurring his vision. "It was supposed to be a dream!" He cried. He gasped for air, his vocal cords working out strangled groans as his body quivered and pounded with aches and pains and utter confusion.

"Ethan, where are you?" He howled, throwing his head back as powerful sobs tore his body apart.